


home.

by moonguilt



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Keith/Lance (Voltron), Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Married Keith/Lance (Voltron), also me: takes 3 hours to write a 1k word fic, i got a toothache from writing this, me: im a writer, one little sweet serving of married fluff, thats it thats literally all this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:54:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25059574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonguilt/pseuds/moonguilt
Summary: Lance comes home to a pleasant surprise.  Fluff ensues.(Birthday present for @sirensoda on tumblr!  :)  Go send some well-deserved inbox love!)
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 119





	home.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SirenSoda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirenSoda/gifts).



The sun beat down relentlessly, glinting off of car doors and warming the pavement of the little side street Lance strode down. He winced at the heat, adjusting his floppy sun hat with one hand and flexing the sweaty fingers of his other around the handles of his reusable shopping tote. The fruits and vegetables inside were fresh and glistening in the sunlight, taunting him like beautiful, stupidly heavy jewels.

His back ached from lugging his haul back from the local farmer's market, but he was almost home, and the sight of his small cottage as he rounded a corner was enough to motivate him to pick up the pace. Note to future self, he thought as he neared his destination: don't go for long rigorous walks in the middle of summer in a pair of full length overalls and gardening boots. He felt clammy and blistery and miserable and—

He paused when he reached the driveway. Just over the sounds of birds chirping and distant cars rumbling on the highway about a mile out, Lance could hear a gentle strumming coming from the backyard. Curiosity—as always—getting the better of him, he slowed his pace and quieted his footsteps, sneaking around to the back of the house.

There, with his back facing Lance, perched on a little stone garden bench in front of an unlit fire pit, dressed in jeans and a worn green flannel shirt, sat Keith.

Keith with a _guitar_.

Keith _playing_ a guitar.

Keith _humming along_ with a guitar _._

Lance knew Keith _could_ play, knew he _owned_ a guitar, but in all their time living together, Keith had never actually used it. He always said he was no good at it, and Lance always whined and pouted but never pushed enough to pressure him. And now here he was, playing like an old pro.

Lance was so mesmerized by the display that it took him a moment to actually listen to the tune Keith was humming. But when he did, his lips took on an involuntary quirk, and he leaned his left shoulder against the nearby porch.

“Is that 'Sweet Home Alabama'?” he wondered aloud, a teasing lilt to his voice.

The effect was instantaneous: Keith practically leapt out of his skin, fumbling with his guitar as he whipped around to look at Lance over his shoulder. His cheeks darkened with embarrassment, and he set the instrument aside as if it had burned him.

“Uh,” he mumbled instead of answering the question, “I didn't think you'd—be home so soon.” He cleared his throat and looked around the backyard as if trying to summon up a new topic out of thin air.

Lance's smirk only broadened. “Obviously not.” He pushed off of the porch and strolled closer. “But really, Keith, 'Sweet Home Alabama'?” His face felt taut with barely restrained laughter. “I never pegged you for a—”

“Don't,” Keith interrupted hastily, “finish that sentence.” He narrowed his eyes and hunched his shoulders. “It's just a catchy tune.”

Lance simply fixed him with a full-blown grin and plopped down on the bench next to him, cozying up to his side and leaving the bag of groceries on the ground. “You're very good, you know,” he said—and it was the truth, but he couldn't help the amusement in his voice. “You almost make me like that song.”

Keith, still flushed but starting to recover, quirked a brow. “But not quite,” he supplied, his own lip beginning to twitch upward.

“But not quite,” Lance confirmed in an overly grave tone, eyes twinkling with mirth as he met Keith's gaze and held it.

Keith was so handsome like this: hair falling around his face, just reaching the tips of his strong shoulders; color still clinging to his cheeks like the red, red apples in the bag at Lance's feet; eyes clever but soft, full of wit and full of love. Lance wished he could take this moment, bottle it up, stick it in a time capsule—open it years later and live it again.

“Do you think about it often?” Lance asked, suddenly desperate to prolong the feeling of Keith's gaze locked onto him. “Not Alabama. Home, I mean.” It came out quieter than he intended. Quieter and fonder.

Keith appeared startled for a moment by the question, perhaps even alarmed, and then all at once he was both tender and intense. “Every day,” he breathed, then gave something halfway between a nod and a shake of his head, like he couldn't decide which would convey his thoughts better. “Every moment.”

Lance reached a hand over to grasp one of Keith's. “I'll take you back there soon,” he promised. He understood the feeling of yearning, of missing. Of wanting to revisit old memories, an old life. “If you don't mind me being there.”

Now Keith's expression morphed abruptly into one of confusion. “Wh—I'm not—” He paused for a moment, furrowing his brow. This time he seemed able to decide which way to move his head—back and forth, vigorously, adamantly. “I'm not talking about the shack. I'm talking about—” He swallowed, glanced over at their small house with its faded brick walls and its grey shingles and its slightly skewed weather vane. Looked back to Lance again, shifted towards him. “I'm talking about _home._ ”

Lance's breath felt trapped in his throat. “Oh,” he croaked, then cleared his throat and tried to salvage his composure. Tried to come up with something to say. “Well that … that makes sense. It's normal, you know … to feel …” Keith was looking at his lips now. It was hard to concentrate. “… to feel so … attached to a place when you have your whole life in it.” Did that sound profound? He hoped so. His brain felt like mush.

Keith hummed, leaning closer, close enough to let their noses brush, just barely. “Is it?” he asked, still fixing Lance with that stare that felt incredibly serious and incredibly soft. “I wouldn't know. I've never had—you—before.”

Lance pressed their foreheads together. “Keith.” His voice was quiet, hushed, just for the two of them in this private space between their lips. “You have me now,” he said. “You have me always.”

And he closed the gap, and he sewed his promise into the seam of his husband's mouth, and they were home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Again this is a bday present for @sirensoda on tumblr whom I highly encourage ALL OF YALL TO FOLLOW that's all thank you <3
> 
> My tumblr & twitter: moonguilt


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